The Dark Side of the Moon
by Wacko the Sane
Summary: Eight years after Harry defeated Lord Voldemort, Hermione is trying to move on, until a shadow from the past returns and changes everything. HBP Spoilers.
1. Speak to Me

**A/N: Hello then, something interesting this time, something that I can do what I want with, rather than be restricted by a film's plot, with a little inspiration from Pink Floyd… I'm writing each chapter whilst listening to each track from their fabulous album, The Dark Side of the Moon (listen to it if you haven't), and I've used a few lines of lyrics to help me along with the story - which I have, for the first time in my life, got a plot for (well sort of!). I hope you enjoy it…**

- CHAPTER ONE -

**Speak to Me**

_I've always been mad,_

_I know I've been mad._

A tall man was sitting in a corner of the Great Hall. A dark hooded cloak was drawn over his head, but occasionally one could catch brief glimpses of his long pallid face; shining in the light of the almost-full moon that beamed down on the hall from the enchanted ceiling.

The five school tables had long-since vanished; only several rows of chairs facing a stage erected where the staff table usually was, and a large table standing at the other end of the hall, heaving with so much food that gave the impression the house-elves were still catering for the entire school. But there were far fewer than that here tonight.

A faint pumping sound erupted from the walls; a rhythmical heartbeat. People began to take their seats as the beating grew louder, the hall's floating candles all suddenly extinguished and the black curtains veiling the stage started to part.

A skinny boy was standing in the centre of the stage; tallish, probably about seventeen, with jet-black hair sticking up at odd angles, sparkling emerald eyes behind spindly circular-framed glasses, and a thin lightning bolt scar that zigzagged down his forehead. He raised his arms. Someone in the audience stifled a giggle.

"I am Harry Potter," he said, his voice booming from the stage, "and this is the story of how I killed Lord Voldemort."

There were a few small intakes of breath amongst the audience at the mention of his name; for most, the experiences and the fear was still only too real. There was a great thunderclap and lightning began to strike at the back of the stage, a thin curtain of rain now separating it from the audience.

"Well, they've certainly got the weather right," a young man whispered to his companions.

"Shh! I'm trying to watch this!" hissed the bushy haired woman on his right.

The hooded man at the back of the hall was muttering incoherently under his breath, his eyes fixed on the stage.

"Who's that?" the beautiful auburn haired woman on his left asked, gesturing subtly to the cloaked man lurking at the back of the hall.

"No idea, he looks quite mad though…" replied the young man.

"I knew it!" the bushy haired woman exclaimed quietly.

"What?"

"He's a Metamorphagus! They just did the bit where your scar disappeared -"

"Really? Oh, Ginny," he hissed at the woman on his left, "you made me miss the best bit!" He stared up at the stage where the play was coming to an end; the actors took their bows whilst the names of all those who had died during the war appeared in fiery letters at the back of the stage, he felt his stomach tighten with every name that burnt in the still air. The candles puffed back into flame and the audience applauded warmly. "Well, that was certainly a novel way to do it," he muttered to his companions.

"Hmm," murmured the woman sitting on his right, "but they missed out some important bits; most of the things about Snape weren't mentioned at all."

"Hermione," Ginny sighed, "I'm sure they were trust trying to simplify the story, you know how complicated it would get if they added everything about Snape in as well."

"And he's the only one that knows all the details," Harry added.

Hermione knew all of that, but despite all the darkness and mystery that surrounded Severus Snape, she felt that he did deserve to have his true story told, one day.

"They say he lost his mind, right at the end, don't they?" Ginny asked, leaning on Harry's shoulder.

"Oh, he's always been mad, Ginny, you know that." He stroked her hair, but looked up at Hermione, whose brain hadn't stopped buzzing. "What is it?"

"They didn't mention Ron either," she half-whispered. Ginny sat up straight again. "They never mention Ron, they never did, even when he was alive; it was always you, and he tried to so hard not to let it show how it made him feel."

Harry frowned at her. "Oh, but he did sometimes, then he was just an ungrateful bastard." Ginny and Hermione both glared at him. "But he was always my best friend," Harry said firmly, "we always got through the bad patches."

"And we used to argue all the time," Hermione sighed, "sometimes, I hated him like I could never hate anything else. But I always loved him. I always will." Tears rarely came to any of them now; the wizarding world just had to accept the many broken families the war had left behind and put their thoughts to the future. Harry did just that as Ginny held his hand over the gently kicking lump under her robes. Hermione smiled at them together; experiencing a joy that she would never know.

Behind them, the hooded man had risen from his chair and was walking to the doors that led out to the Entrance Hall. Hermione followed him with her eyes; there was something dreadfully familiar in those brisk long strides. She left Harry and Ginny and paced after him, coming quietly into the Entrance Hall where she saw him sitting at the bottom of the staircase.

"Snape?" she asked quietly.

He looked up, shocked it seemed by the use of his name, had he been hiding from himself for that long? He pulled back his hood, revealing a much paler face than she remembered, lined with strain and age, and long tangled curtains of greasy black hair. He looked as if he hadn't paid any attention to his appearance for the last eight years; perhaps trying to become someone that neither he nor others could recognise. But yet she did.

**A/N: Reviews very welcome! And go look at that moon tonight; it's almost full ;)**


	2. Breathe

A/N: Hello! Sorry to keep you waiting, but my dear teachers do like to keep me busy… Thanks for all the lovely reviews for chapter one and I hope you like this one…

- CHAPTER TWO -

**Breathe**

_And all you touch and all you see,_

_Is all your life will ever be._

She sat up, shivering a little, holding frail fingers against her clammy skin, remembering as if it were yesterday how time had seemed to stop in the air between them, how she had reached out, but he had gone too far. She took deep breath and shook herself of the dream that had come back every night since he had gone, then she rolled over and went back to sleep.

She sank into another dream, this time remembering the night only a few weeks ago, when she had seen Snape. It seemed more or less similar to the real events; Snape's long unfathomable gaze at her before her turned on his heel and Disapparated, though now he appeared to be wearing Neville Longbottom's grandmother's clothing, like that boggart they'd encountered with Lupin in their third-year had been forced to assume.

It was only when she woke up again, a few hours later, the dim twilight that filtering through her curtains so that she could see the quietly ticking clock on the wall, that she realised it was her birthday. Another year on and what had she achieved? Still stuck in the life she couldn't escape; a life of loss and unfulfilment. How had she let herself be lost in this mess? Was she the only one who couldn't move on? Even Mrs Weasley, bereft of her husband and her six sons, had begun to make progress. She sighed at her own deduction; how selfish she was to expect her suffering to be the worst, when all she'd lost was her best friend, and soul mate.

Unable to stay in bed with such thoughts, she got up and dressed slowly, swallowing a tablet from the bottle at her bedside. Gently pulling back the curtains on the sky thick with cloud, she stared down across the road beneath her; the building trickle of the Muggle rush-hour and the pigeons gathering in the square to await the appearance of the elderly woman who would spend the early morning feeding them. She sighed again, almost wishing from something extraordinary to happen, to destroy the repetitive, routine life she was living. But past experience had told her that in the wizarding world, extraordinary didn't always mean good.

That was when she noticed a familiar gait striding along the pavement directly below her, though she didn't believe her sense, especially when the buzzer to her flat sounded. She leapt from her place at the window and rushed to the receiver.

"Granger?" a voice muttered into her ear.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"It's Snape," came the quick reply. "Can I come up?"

She hesitated; what did he want? Particularly at this hour in the morning. How did he know she'd be awake? Come to think of it, how did he know where she lived? She hovered her finger for a moment over the button that unlocked the door, and pressed it.

She quickly pushed some of the musty books in her hallway aside, and wiped her hands on her robes, tried to flatten her hair, and gently opened the door when she heard the soft knock. It took what seemed like an age for the door to pass across his face, but eventually it revealed him; his hood down, revealing the same drained face she had seen so briefly in August.

"I'm sorry it's so early," he muttered. She was almost shocked at such an anticlimactic greeting, but then again, what had she wanted him to say?

"It's OK," she replied, "I was already up."

He nodded, his lips tightening. She gestured to the small sitting room coming off the hall.

"Would you like to sit down?"

He sat down in the stiff armchair by the defunct fireplace (though with Hermione's skill at conjuring portable fires, the Muggle definition wasn't really appropriate) and she on the mouldy sofa. He glanced around the room, which was littered with ancient books.

"Nice place you have here," he sneered, oozing with sarcasm.

She felt her cheeks redden. "I have too many old books and not enough money," she sighed, "and everything in my life just seems to accumulate dirt and dust."

He nodded. "I thought you'd say something like that."

"What makes you say that?" she said suddenly.

"I can just imagine what a waste you've made of your life these past eight years; twenty-seven today and what have you achieved?"

She was shocked with how astute his opinion of her was. Was she that transparent? And he knew it was her birthday… "Well you can talk!" she retorted accusatorially, "What have you been doing for the last eight years?"

He ignored her. "Do you not want anything else out of your life? To make something of yourself? To realise your potential? Or will you just waste yourself away to an early grave?"

She stared at him; he had come all this way to find her, only to give her life advice. Surely, this wasn't the Snape she remembered. "What's happened to you?" she blurted out, before she could stop herself.

"Me? I gave up, Granger, I gave up doing what other people wanted me to; gave up being tossed between the two sides, constantly having to put up an act. It was taking years off me. Now I am my own man; I only do what I want now; whether it be seeking out the last of the Dark side, or travelling the globe. No-one can tell me what to do."

"So what do you want me for?"

"There's still one last task I want to do, and I've been looking for an assistant. It was only in August that I realised it could be you." He seemed sincere; she was greatly puzzled by this new Snape.

"You could have told me then! Rather than Disapparating as soon as you saw me," she said indignantly.

"It took some thought," he replied simply. "So? Will you come with me?"

"I can't just leave out of the blue!"

"What have you got to stay for?"

He had a point. Surely going off an 'adventure' with him could be better than waking up every morning in this place. "My friends…" she said meekly.

He smirked. "Come on then."

"Right now? Can't I take anything? Shouldn't I tell someone where I'm going? Where _am_ I going?" She looked bewilderedly at him.

"Stupid girl." He shook his head. "No-one needs to know, and grab some spare robes if you really think you need them."

She ran into her bedroom, grabbing a bag from under her bed and stuffing it with robes, a hairbrush, her toothbrush… She hesitated over her pills, but then threw them in too. Finally, something was going to happen in her life again, maybe it would have dreadful consequences, but right now, it seemed better to her than anything staying here could offer.

**A/N: Voilà, c'est tout… Reviews very welcome! Until the next… Oh, and Happy Birthday Hermione!**


End file.
